What happiness the rural maid attends, In cheerful labour while each day she spends! She gratefully receives what Heav'n has sent, And, rich in poverty, enjoys content.

The charge is prepared; the lawyers are met; The judges all ranged (a terrible show!) I go, undismay'd. For death is a debt, A debt on demand. So take what I owe.

But his kiss was so sweet, and so closely he pressed, that I languished and pined till I granted the rest.

When we risk no contradiction, It prompts the tongue to deal in fiction.

Who talks much, must talk in vain.

Can love be controll'd by advice?

Envy is a kind of praise.